The Harpies of Cleanliness
by Brave November
Summary: Extrapolated from Wynne's comments about Alistair's personal hygiene.


Menace whimpered piteously, trying to gather his body into a small, quivering ball. Dark eyes looked reproachfully up at Kallian. She raised her eyebrows. "Don't give me that," she said sternly, trying to not smile. "I've seen you run headlong through icy slush with a big doggy grin on your face. This water is much warmer."

Her hound whined sadly, sniffled the soapy cloth Wynne was using to scrub his side, and sneezed, swiping at his nose with his paw.

"Oh, hush," said the mage briskly. "This is Orlesian perfumed soap, and if it's good enough for the Empress, it's good enough for you."

"Isn't that expensive?" Kallian asked, eying the lather with alarm. "Should you be using it on Menace?"

"It was a gift from a colleague I never cared for," Wynne explained, pushing up a drooping sleeve. "I could never bring myself to use it, but I didn't want to throw it out, either. It gives me some satisfaction to imagine the look on Jenara's face when she finds out I squandered her precious gift on a mere animal." She patted Menace's head comfortingly. "Not that I think of you as such, of course."

"Maker's mercy!" Kallian heard Alistair's muttered oath and the clatter-thud of an armload of wood being dropped to the ground. "What are you doing to the poor fellow?" Sensing a new champion, Menace turned large, sad eyes toward the man.

"It is called 'bathing,'" said Morrigan, materializing out of the shadows with a suddenness that made them all start. "And I am not surprised that you do not recognize it."

Alistair glared at her. "Have you been waiting there to jump out and insult me?"

"As if I needed to lie in wait for an opportunity," the witch scoffed. "I have come to cook—yet another common task you cannot seem to master." She dropped to her knees beside the fire, prodding the brands into a shape of her liking with a long stick. When Menace looked toward her, she crossed her arms. "Don't even try, you bottomless stomach on legs. It's past time, if you ask me."

Alistair sniffed the air. "Is that. . .lilac?" He stared at the two water-spattered women with horror. "You're both mad!"

"Be quiet, Alistair. You're making more fuss than Menace," Wynne scolded.

Kallian laughed as the hound assumed an air of noble forbearance. "Tell you what," she promised. "If you keep on being so brave, I'll let you sleep inside my tent again." Menace's ears perked up, and his stubby tail twitched hopefully. "Why did you think you were outside in the first place, blood-breath?" Thus bribed, the hound stood quietly as Kallian and Wynne scrubbed him down with the scented soap and poured the remainder of the hot water over him to rinse the suds away. "Don't shake off here!" Kallian commanded, earning another reproachful look as the dog trotted to the edge of camp.

"You know," Wynne said thoughtfully, getting to her feet, "I believe Morrigan may have a point." Ignoring the witch's expression of exaggerated surprise, she rounded on Alistair. "When was the last time you scrubbed behind your ears, young man? Or anywhere else?"

"I don't have to answer that," said Alistair defensively.

"Let's see. . ." Kallian drummed her fingers against her leg. "The last time we stayed in an inn was. . . eight days ago, I think, during the big rainstorm. What was the name?"

"The Frog Prince," Morrigan supplied. "The landlord mistook you for Alistair's servant. That was amusing." The younger women laughed at the memory. Wynne cleared her throat.

"That was over a week ago," she said, glaring disapprovingly at Alistair. "Do you mean to tell us that you haven't bathed in all this time?"

"I didn't tell you that," he muttered resentfully.

"Besides, he didn't bathe there, either," said Leliana, emerging from her tent with disheveled hair and sleepy eyes. She sniffed the air. "Is that Orlesian soap?"

"It is, and I don't see how you could know that," Alistair said, with some heat.

"I would know that scent anywhe—oh, you mean about your bathing? I went out to the stable early in the morning and found you sleeping in an empty stall," Leliana smiled archly. "Menace was using your backside for a pillow."

"Alistair!" Wynne put her hands on her hips and glared at him. The man quailed.

"What? Look, I wanted to take a bath, but Zevran was. . .uh, using the tub."

"So you slept in the stable?" Kallian demanded.

"The stableboy was also in the tub," he clarified, flushing. "I didn't think he'd mind if we switched rooms for the night."

Kallian frowned. "You should have said something. Next time, he can share with Sten."

"I didn't want to cause trouble," said Alistair wretchedly. "I didn't mind, really. It's not like it's the first time I've slept in a stable, or even the worst stable I've slept in. . ."

"That still does not excuse the fact that you haven't bathed in over a month," Wynne said firmly. "At least tell me you've been washing off in your tent."

"I don't see how my bathing habits are any of your concern!"

Wynne snorted. "They are when I have to walk downwind of you."

"I agree," Leliana chirped, settling down some distance from the warrior. "Morrigan?"

"I had begun to consider cleansing him with fire," the witch said evenly. Alistair stared at her in alarm, then turned appealingly to Kallian. She folded her arms.

"You smell like sweaty feet," she said with a grimace.

"And armor polish," Leliana added.

"Don't forget stale cheese," said Morrigan. "Or is it ripe? I can never tell."

Alistair crossed his arms defiantly. "It's better than lilac."

"I also have lemon," said Wynne evenly. "Or perhaps a nice peppermint?"

"Hhmn. . .minty fresh Alistair," Leliana giggled. "That sounds promising."

"What?!"

"Your choice is simple, Alistair," Wynne explained with a steely smile. "You can take the soap and clean yourself, or we will strip you and scrub you down in front of the fire just as we did Menace."

Alistair looked despairingly at each woman's face and found them set in identical expressions of resolve. "All right," he muttered sullenly. "I suppose I could do with a scrub." He glowered at the chorus of agreement.

"You'd better hurry and fetch the water while there's light," Kallian advised. "And some extra to do laundry with. No point in getting you clean if your clothes and blankets are still filthy."

"Do this, do that," he griped as he got to his feet. "At least Menace gets a reward."

Kallian's eyebrows rose. "You want to sleep in my tent, too?"

"I. . .That isn't. . .Oh, Maker save me from you harpies of cleanliness." Ears burning, Alistair fled, pretending not to hear the peals of laughter behind him.


End file.
